"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
As soon as Shaytan’s hooves hit the lush, long green grasses, she feels a sort of inexplicable euphoria wash over her. It manifested itself in this immense urge to roll in the grass. So she did, without a care in the world as to who saw her; the smells and the prospect of bunnies and the lack of ash made her throw her hooves up in the air and she just didn’t care!
For like, a good solid minute. Maybe two at the most. It didn’t occur to her that Erebor could be right behind her, or that one of the Daleans could come along and see her legs flailing about. She didn’t care that she might be making the wrong impression. It’s just that she was a Meadow bum for so long, and the grass is her happy place. If Shaytan were to have a happy place. Let me rephrase: It’s a place where she can do things that make her happy. And that part of her brain was starting to come alive, making her wonder if there wasn’t some part of the Dale that was relatively secluded… out of the way… so no one could see her kill.
Shaytan may be oblivious, but she isn’t dumb. Killing other people’s bunnies would not be a smart move.
Rolling around complete, she rises with a bit of a whiter coat, the Chamber’s ash cleaned off in the grass. And then her undercover reconnaissance begins, surreptitiously eyeing the land in a very shifty manner. She’s got those shady eyes going on.
But first things first; diplomacy. Whatever that means.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
There's very little that slips past Tiphon. He is everywhere all at once; he's the air they breathe and the stream they drink. His body is the earth they live in as he somehow watches from everywhere and nowhere. He stretches himself thin when doing this, but Tiphon takes joy in seeing others roam his hills and brooks. There is serenity in seeing others smile and laugh amongst themselves after he has seen the extent of what destruction and dismay can reach.
Being ever present, mixed with the outside scent of the Chamber, makes the mare like a blaring beacon. With enough energy channeled through him Tiphon casually materializes in front of her just as she rises to her feet and shakes away the grass. A brow lifts. "I guess you were overdue for a good roll," an airy chuckle slips past him as he curiously looks over her. Telling by the way she glances over her shoulder he assumes that company will be joining her, but on friendly terms seeing as she rolled rather than paraded in with war cries.
The sunlight fans across them in sheets, illuminating his porcelain body while he introduces himself. "I'm Tiphon," the sense of protectiveness burns through him as he reminds himself of the children at play in the open fields behind him. "What brings you to the Dale?" Likely diplomats to discuss relationships, but he doesn't press the matter or assume.
05-11-2015, 08:20 PM (This post was last modified: 05-11-2015, 08:55 PM by Erebor.)
We are at war. There will be scars.
Shaytan is a little bit of a mystery to the young prince. She is clearly devoted to his mother, and possibly to the Chamber, and for that he is grateful. Well really, he's grateful for anyone who is a warm body, because the kingdoms of late seem to be so sorely lacking in them. And she is certainly a warm body, brimming with personality in surprising ways. He doesn't know of her bunny-killing past, he doesn't know much about her, but he knows that she's here, and what else really matters?
He sees her leave the Chamber and goes to follow her. But she is fast, always a step ahead of him. He would like to chat with her, to make conversation as they move for the Dale, but she is just out of reach. And very fast.
When they finally reach the Dale, he draws up beside her. Only for her to immediately drop to the grass and roll around.
This is something that he has no frame of reference for. He doesn't understand how you can simply drop decorum like that. He has no concept of that kind of joy, of urges that cannot be controlled. He is the essence of control, the epitome of restraint and conscientiousness. And here he is next to Shaytan, who is apparently the opposite of these things.
But he doesn't judge her for it. He isn't much of one to judge, perhaps surprisingly. And perhaps she's done right, because she does look infinitely more presentable when she gets up. He sees her looking around, doesn't miss the shiftiness in her eyes, and wonders exactly what's going on with her. He is sure that there has been no order given to be duplicitous – if there had been, Straia would have included him. Not because he's her child, but because he's one of their best.
But he doesn't address it. Not here, on the border of a strange kingdom. Instead, he keeps his face carefully neutral as they linger on the border And it is not long that they linger, not long before they're greeted. Well, greeted by one who materializes before them easily, and Erebor finds himself forcibly reminded that they are, in fact, in mythical lands.
"Tiphon, thank you for greeting us." The boy speaks with clear, distinct tones, sounding older than his one year of age. "I'm Erebor, and this is Shaytan. We come from the Chamber on a diplomatic mission." There is a diplomatic warmth in his tone, not the closeness of friendship, but the warmth of one diplomat greeting another with nothing but openness. And then, perhaps against his better judgment, he is silent, and lets Shaytan have her turn to speak.
05-15-2015, 01:07 PM (This post was last modified: 05-15-2015, 01:07 PM by Shaytan.)
I call her the devil cause she makes me wanna sin
Any other mare would probably have been embarrassed at being caught with her legs in the air, but Shaytan wanted a roll… so she rolled. What’s the big deal? If she had had to take a shit while at the Dale’s borders, she would have done the same thing. And then stepped a few feet away. The stallion that materializes (oh, that was pretty cool, actually) in front of her kind of glows, and she’s lost in the radiance that emanates from his skin for couple of moments. She finally blinks and it breaks the spell, allowing her to shake it off and then answer, “Rolling is good. And there’s no ash here. I was tired of being dirty.”
Shaytan is the antithesis of a diplomat. In fact, she really doesn’t fit in either of the two castes, but feels compelled to try and chip in anyway. For her.
What would little Erebor think about Shaytan’s girl crush on his mother?
She barrels onward, feeling the need to have some sort of say in this conversation. “So… how is the Dale? What are you guys up to? Do you have any thoughts about your relationship with the Chamber and Queen Straia?” Really, they hadn’t been given any instructions except to visit the Kingdoms. There was no ‘find out if they want a treaty!’ or ‘be intimidating!’ or anything like that. Hell, Shaytan doesn’t even know if Straia being crowned Queen is recent or old news for the King of the Dale. She just does what she thinks she supposed to do and doesn’t look back.
At least the results of her bumbling around may be slightly interesting.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
Tiphon regards the pair coolly. A yearling and a newcomer still delving in politics are at his door. They are hospitable and professional enough but entirely inexperienced. Curiosity piques in the deep corridors of Tiphon's thoughts but no one could tell by the stoic manner in which he glances between the two of them. "A pleasure," he remarks with a roll of his shoulders. The last time the Chamber presented themselves here, Rodrik held the throne. Has it already been so long ago that there is new monarchy?
Neither carry the blood king's scent. Instead, they both reek of the familiar pines but also of a mare.
A new queen, perhaps?
The question is easily enough dismissed as the mare speaks up in a more informal tone. Tiphon's assumptions are concluded rather quickly and his head inclines in response. "Queen Straia? What happened to Rodrik?" Their kingdoms were never bitter toward one another nor were they entirely friendly. There was something dark in Rodrik, something that Tiphon couldn't bring himself to trust. And that, unfortunately, extended to the Chamber, but he doesn't voice this aloud as of yet. "The Dale is doing well," it's the generic response that is said about most kingdoms. No one ever wants to over inform outsiders. "And what of the Chamber under this new ruler? Tell me more of her." His eyes gleam with interest to hear who was worthy enough to replace Rodrik.
Shaytan purses her lips at his question, trying to rack her brain for an answer. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know the history, and she’s never asked. She knows it has something to do with the Valley, but that’s about it. So instead, Shaytan shrugs and says, “I think it had something to do with the Valley. Before I came to the Chamber.” She didn’t know the former King, either, and subsequently has no opinions about him. Hell, she doesn’t even know he is Erebor’s grandfather.
But Straia? Oh, she knows about Straia. She could sing to the moon about Straia.
So she does. Kind of. In her own Shaytan-esque way. “Queen Straia is… very good Queen. She’s pretty and not too mean or too nice. She inspires loyalty and is very no-nonsense like. Oh, and Erebor is her son.” And with that, Shaytan falls silent, having probably said waaaay too much and yet nothing of significance at all.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
Tiphon asks questions, and Erebor is silent as Shayan answers. Although, it quickly becomes clear to him that perhaps he should've done more of the talking, considering the way she seems to blurt things out. At least she, like he, is newer, and therefore can't blurt out too much. He considers for just a moment that she might perhaps be lying – that she might be claiming to be new, when in fact she knows a lot more than she lets on. But then he remembers the rolling and the blood and all the other strange things he's seen since they were sent to do visits together and quickly dismisses the idea.
Well, mostly. It's either genius or madness, and while he thinks it's madness, he may never be entirely sure.
"I am Straia's son. And Straia is Rodrik's daughter." there's no harm in telling him things that are more or less common knowledge. He's far less inclined to share the details of how she came to have the throne. Let him assume that it had been a calm takeover, a genial handing down of the throne from one generation to the next. "As Shaytan says, she is a good ruler. Although I can't say I have much to compare her with." the boy offers with a small smile.
"We are glad to hear that the Dale is doing well. If you have more questions about the Chamber we'd be happy to answer them, but otherwise, we don't need to take any more of your time." They've learned what they came here to learn – the Dale does as well as any of the kingdoms nowadays. It is quiet, but aren't they all? Perhaps they should pry further into alliances, try to ask more questions, but Tiphon's graceful deflection and demurring tells the boy that such questions might not be well received. They know enough, he thinks, and that will need to be enough. At least for now.
